


set me on the path home

by ezlybored



Category: Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency (TV 2016)
Genre: First Meetings, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-17
Updated: 2019-07-17
Packaged: 2020-06-30 02:12:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19843411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ezlybored/pseuds/ezlybored
Summary: Their first meeting is accidental: Panto, later, calls it fate, and Silas laughs and cannot bring himself to deny it, loves him more for it. It may not have been fate, but Silas likes to think of it as—a defining moment. That when he met Panto, it changed his life irreversibly, setting him on a different path, one that he cannot say he has ever regretted.(old fic i dug up, figured i'd post)





	set me on the path home

The first time they meet they are both boys too eager to become men, their heights growing quicker than their minds can catch up. The feud between their families is a distant thought, a vague obligation that neither of them truly understand. Their meeting is accidental: Panto, later, calls it fate, and Silas laughs and cannot bring himself to deny it, loves him more for it. It may not have been fate, but Silas likes to think of it as—a defining moment. That when he met Panto, it changed his life irreversibly, setting him on a different path, one that he cannot say he has ever regretted.

The first time they meet it is in the forest, a precursor to a great deal many more meetings in the forest. Panto is alone. Silas is, too, at that age still abrasive to Wygar’s constant hovering presence. He is, in fact, in the forest in an attempt to lose the hulking mass of a man. It is not a terribly complicated plot; it will likely only work once. They had gone out to the market to run some errands, perhaps buy treats and gifts for Farson while they were there. Silas left Wygar holding the purchases and slipped into the crowd while the man looked around, confusion beginning to seep into alarm. Once he was certain Wygar could not see him, he split off and ran blindly into the forest. 

Silas runs, for some time, with nothing but the sound of his panting breath and his beating heart in his ears. The constant rhythm blends into his movements, the fall of his footsteps in sync with his inhales and exhales. He makes his way through the trees and brambles of the forest with ease, the world passing by him in a green blur—he has no idea where he’s going, but at the time it’s not even a thought in his mind. 

It’s after several minutes that he comes slowly to a stop, supporting himself against the nearest tree and taking in great gulps of air. The forest is quiet around him and his heart is thumping in his chest. He feels light-headed; he feels as if he is vibrating with a feeling he can only describe as freedom. A grin spreads across his face and a burst of hysterical laughter escapes him before he can stop himself; Wygar will be infuriated, but Silas cannot bring himself to be concerned at the moment, electricity sparking under his skin, sweat beading on his forehead.

This sensation of euphoria lasts for about thirty seconds before Silas catches his breath somewhat, steps away from the tree, and realizes that he is quite hopelessly lost.

He does not _panic_ , but certainly the buzz Silas was feeling fades. He feels sweaty and stupid and thoughtless. Wygar will not just be infuriated, he will be worried sick, and give Silas an awful scolding. His mother will not be happy. But in order for any of that to happen, Wygar will need to find Silas first.

And he is really, very hopelessly lost.

He hadn’t been paying attention while he ran, and even if he had: it’s a forest, all the trees look the same. At the very least, Silas thinks, he can’t be too far from the market, and the sun is still high in the sky. He’d only really run in one direction; if he just goes back the way he came, he should be able to find his way back.

Now with some measure of confidence, Silas turns around on his heel—and stops short. Looking straight back at him is a boy about his age with unmistakeable pink hair. His clothes are simple, to be expected of a Trost, but his hand is resting on the hilt of his scissor-sword in a definitely threatening way. Without thinking, Silas mirrors the gesture, though he has to admit he doubts he could defeat the other boy in a fight.

“Who are you?” the Trost boy asks—demands, really, an interrogative edge to his voice. He steps closer, wary.

Silas steps back, hand still resting on his scissor-sword. “This isn’t Trost territory,” he says. At least, he doesn’t think it is—the market doesn’t belong to anyone, and neither should the area immediately surrounding it.

That gives the Trost boy pause. “It isn’t,” he admits, straightening up to his full height, “but you don’t usually find Dengdamors running about in the forest.”

“I’m just heading back to the market. I don’t want any trouble.” After a moment of consideration, Silas raises his hands up in a gesture of peace and emphasizes, “Really.”

The Trost boy scrutinizes him for a moment while Silas regrets his life choices and holds his breath. Finally, he nods, letting his hands fall to his sides. There’s a moment of silence before he offers, “Panto.”

“Pardon?”

“I’m Panto Trost, Lord Prince of the Valley of Inglenook.” Panto bows with an exaggerated flourish; Silas remembers belatedly that the eldest Trost child _was_ about his age. “And you are?”

Silas lowers his hands to his sides. “...Silas. Dengdamor,” he adds, though Panto knows that already. Hesitant, he steps forward and offers his hand. Panto looks at him before taking his hand in a strong grip and shaking it. 

“Do you need help getting back to the market?” Panto asks immediately after releasing Silas’ hand. Silas curls his fingers in as he returns his hand to his side, struck by the lingering warmth Panto left behind. Something in his expression must say something, because Panto adds hastily, “You seemed lost.”

“Wy—my guardian won’t be happy to see you,” Silas says, before he even thinks about saying 'no.’ 

“I can leave before he sees me,” Panto says with a grin that Silas cannot think of in any terms other than 'blinding.’ “I’m just giving you directions, that can’t possibly be offensive. Come on.” He turns and begins walking away with a quick gesture for Silas to follow; Silas stumbles before catching up to Panto’s side and falling into step with him.

“Why are _you_ in the forest, anyway?” he asks, hoping to avoid falling into an awkward silence. 

“I was hoping to run across people in need of rescuing,” Panto answers. His grin, his light tone mean that it’s a joke. Silas can’t bring himself to feel offended, just embarrassed. He bites his bottom lip to avoid letting out an embarrassed chuckle.

“I’m hardly in need of rescuing,” he protests weakly. “I can find the way back to the market on my own just fine.”

“I’m sure you can,” Panto says good-naturedly. “This is purely for my own benefit.” He turns to look at Silas directly. “Otherwise, I’d have been consumed with worry about whether you were eaten by a troll on your way back.”

This time, Silas lets himself laugh. “So if a troll attacks us, do you intend to sacrifice yourself so I can escape?”

“No, I’ll fight it off myself!” Panto dramatically unsheathes his scissor-sword and lunges forward to stab an imaginary troll in what Silas assumes would be the knee. Silas laughs again and Panto turns back to face him—while his grin is blinding, his gentle smile strikes Silas dumb. “I’ll be the greatest swordsman in all of Wendimoor one day, just you wait and see.”

“I’m sure,” Silas says, voice full of benign sarcasm. “And our families will stop fighting and there will be peace throughout the land.”

“Well, why not?” Panto asks, his face earnest. “It’s hardly as if there’s a real reason for the fighting. It’s got to end someday.” He sheathes his scissor-sword and returns to Silas’ side, cuing him to begin walking again.

“I… suppose it does,” Silas says lamely, and Panto grins again, and Silas has to glance away from the brilliance of it. 

They walk in a comfortable silence from then on, though Silas thinks he can hear Panto humming a tune under his breath. The forest is beautiful, Silas realizes as they walk; there’s an elegance to the curve of the trees, the ways their leaves blot out the sky and leave speckled shadows on the ground, on Panto’s face as he glances around him. The snatches of birdsong he hears are as fine as any music he’s heard performed. And Panto is beside him, self-assurance in his stride, a smile on his face.

He wouldn’t have supposed, when he got it in his head to evade Wygar for the day, that he’d end up befriending (is it befriending?) the prince of the Trost family. Wygar would have a fit if he knew.

As if summoned by his thoughts, Silas sees Wygar in the distance, though he can tell Wygar hasn’t caught sight of him yet. He feels something like disappointment, though he can’t fathom why. “That’s my guardian,” he points out with a trace of regret in his voice. Panto follows his gaze and nods.

“I’ll be off then,” he says, turning to walk away. Then he stops for a moment and glances back over his shoulder to say: “I hope we see each other again, Silas,” before he disappears among the trees.

Silas can’t even reply before Wygar notices him and starts charging towards him, the anger clear on his face, and Silas has to prepare for the scolding he’s about to receive.

Yet in the end he barely processes what Wygar tells him, is only distantly aware that his guardian agrees not to tell his mother about his idiocy. He rests one hand in the other and remembers the warmth of Panto’s grip. He removes his sheath and hangs up his scissor-sword and remembers Panto swearing he’ll be the greatest swordsman in all of Wendimoor.

He falls asleep thinking of peace between their families; peace throughout the land. It’s a pleasant dream.

The second time they meet, weeks have passed. Panto is alone. Silas is not. But still, Panto’s face lights up with his blinding grin, and he says “Silas!” and waves like they are old friends. Wygar shifts uncomfortably and mutters something derogatory, giving Silas a judgmental look. There will no doubt be questions to answer. Silas ignores his guardian for the moment and waves back, his own hesitant grin matching Panto’s wide one, and Panto’s face lights up _more._

“It’s good to see you again,” Panto says, coming up to Silas without hesitation. Wygar tenses up, but says nothing. Silas has no idea how Panto can ignore him.

“It is,” Silas says, and Panto looks like that’s the greatest thing he’s heard all week. Then he looks at Wygar, whose face is somehow both impassive and terrifying. Silas can’t help but follow his gaze. “Wygar,” he begins, then falters.

Wygar gives him a look but turns and walks a small distance away. Panto watches him before returning his full attention to Silas. (He’ll learn, later, to be able to disregard the man’s near constant presence. Wygar, in turn, will know when to anticipate needing to maintain a respectful distance.)

“He’s—a big man,” Panto says, and Silas thinks he may actually be nervous. He bites the inside of his cheek so as not to laugh and smiles.

“How is becoming the greatest swordsman in all of Wendimoor going?” he asks, half-joking. When Panto looks at him, he seems entirely earnest.

“I train every day, out in the forest,” he begins.

“So _that’s_ what you were doing in the forest.”

“You caught me," Panto says. "There’s a clearing nearby where we met, no one goes there. It’s a good place to get some peace and quiet—I go there nearly every day.” Silas has the feeling Panto wants him to understand something. It takes a moment to click.

"I’ll…” Silas casts a nervous glance towards Wygar, whose face is unmoving as stone. “I’ll see if I can come out sometime. See how good you really are.”

Panto grins. “Maybe we could spar,” he suggests, before Silas shakes his head and huffs a laugh. "Well, if not sparring, I'm sure we'll figure something out." He looks again past Silas to Wygar. "I’ll see you, then. I ought to be going, and your… guardian looks antsy.”

“I’ll see you,” Silas agrees. Panto smiles and claps him on the shoulder with one hand before turning to leave. Silas finds himself once again struck by the feeling of Panto’s hand on his shoulder, and watches him mutely as he goes.

Wygar returns to his side the moment Panto is gone from sight. Silas can sense the doubtfulness before he even looks at the man. “You are friends,” Wygar says hesitantly. Silas breathes in deeply before speaking.

“We’ve met,” he replies, his tone carefully devoid of anything that could indicate further meaning. “He offered me help.”

The aura of silent disapproval radiating from Wygar is nearly tangible, and out of the corner of his eye Silas sees Wygar squint in the direction Panto left in. He seems to conclude something. “You are both idiots,” he mutters, shaking his head, and there is no further discussion.

That night Silas falls asleep thinking about him and Panto becoming the leaders of their families; him and Panto ending the feud. Of how Panto must look, scissor-sword in hand, practicing every day in the clearing by himself.

He’s sure when Panto sees him, he’ll have that blinding grin again. Maybe he's only seen it twice, but it doesn’t seem to get any less bright with age.

**Author's Note:**

> while rooting through my google drive i found this old fic from... geez, november 2017. originally the title was 'good things come in pairs', and i wanted it to cover several relationship milestones (+ the second time the milestone happened, hence the title), but i only ever completed the first meeting section. i still like it, though, so i figured i'd post it, because i've still got a soft spot for these fantasy canon gays.


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